September and a Sickle
by kirsant
Summary: Draco walks among the fires of Beltane, feeling something he hasn't in years. And then, he meets September. Oneshot. / Also includes other short stories centered on Draco and Hermione. Will gradually grow.
1. September and a Sickle

**Oneshots in one place. Not many yet... but there will be more! Your thoughts and comments are much appreciated =)**

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 **Dribble One: September and a Sickle**

 **Length ~ 2.9k words**

 **Rating: T**

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Oh, Beltane. Your fires light the night. Red and orange sing among the hues of opal. Is it real? Is it just a dream, a dream that comes to those who sleep? I don't know. I just see the fires and revel in their light.

People dance and mingle. They laugh, their voices carrying to the twinkling stars above. Tonight, all fears are gone; only the allure of mystery remains. Who are these people? Draco doesn't care. He's come here to forget and, for once in the past several years, become emancipated from the heavy burdens that trouble his dreary days.

So Draco joins the crowd. Ancient magic coats the area. It conceals identities, covering faces like a fog in nippy, late-autumn air, making indistinguishable any personal feature. Anyone can be anyone, and the promise of anonymity has been a temptation few proved able to resist. They've flocked here in droves, the many becoming one, and one becoming many. Draco walks among them, smiling to those who meet his eyes.

...His eyes… the eyes of a former Death Eater, but they don't know, so they smile back and shake his hand and throw their arms around his shoulders, holding him tight until the ice in his heart melts and he can hardly see, because the world has blurred into a kaleidoscope of melting color. His chest shudders, and he recalls the years in which he was cherished, accepted, adored. Those times have passed now. Until today, tonight. Beltane...

There's no stigma here, only love. Only Beltane. All are equal under its tender gaze.

"Have a drink!" He does.

"Try the pie – baked it meself, I did!" He takes a bite, flavors of cherry and waning summer exploding in his mouth. He finishes it in one sitting and thanks the woman, walking on.

A couple musicians strike up a merry tune, and a girl pulls him into a dance. They whirl in circles, going 'round and 'round and 'round, till both are laughing and stumbling from dizzy glee. When the music ends, she presses a kiss to his cheeks and whispers, "Find me later," her breath ghosting over the skin of his ear.

Shivers race down his spine, and he jerks a nod, but she's already gone; she's moved on to the next fire and the next dance.

Does an hour pass? Or maybe two?

There's sweat on his brow, and the moon is high, shining down with its drunk, uncaring light. He doesn't want it to move, because he cannot bear the thought of the night ending. He's in too deep now. He's tasted the forbidden fruit, inhaled the sweet aroma of happiness. It was only a dream before, but some dreams can become reality… if only for a single night.

He takes a seat near a fire, resting his legs. There's almost no one here; he's wandered far, to the very edge of this magical place. A single shape shares his company, a woman. He can see her hair – unruly curls that tumble down in glowing cascades of honey and almond. The smell of asters and foxberry hangs in the midnight air.

"Hi." A shy smile tugs at the edges of her lips.

"Hi," he responds.

They sit for a moment, breathing in the silence. She breaks it first.

"Did you find it?"

"Find what?" he asks.

"Whatever made you come here."

"Oh." He ponders the question and nods. "I did. Not for long, just for the night, but…" He trails off, and she understands.

"It truly is magical, isn't it?"

"It is."

The fire crackles; wind whispers through the leaves. He takes a breath: asters and foxberry. "I have a big day tomorrow," he suddenly announces. Why is he sharing this? He doesn't share; he doesn't ever permit himself to open up. He's been a prison, closed off for years, locked behind his facade of rigid indifference. To show emotions is to admit weakness, and that is the one thing he cannot afford. But, something in this night lets him speak. His lips move, telling his tale to the stranger he just met; one he will never see again. Maybe that's the reason behind his unexpected actions. He doesn't think about it too much.

"Tomorrow is a day when I can get a second chance," he says. She slides near, listening closely. "My life has been… difficult the past several years. It's something I struggled to accept at first."

"The difficulty?"

"No, the reasons behind it," he clarifies, looking past the woman and into the mesmerizing dance of the ethereal flame. It captures his vision, and he stares at it achingly before continuing.

"For a long time, I blamed everyone for my troubles. My parents, my peers, my friends, my enemies. I hated them all so much. It was like… a black cloud that hung over my shoulders, turning the world into this perpetual shade of ashen gray. I was miserable and I lashed out frequently, spewing out my anger and resentment to those nearby. I did it so much, that, one by one, they disappeared, and then there was no one left to lash out to. I became all alone. Do you know what a terrible thing that is – loneliness?"

She sits still, looking down at the ground until an answer tumbles from her lips: "I did once. Long ago, when I was very young, just growing up… I was always by myself. The other children didn't like me. They never played with me or shared their dolls or took me on little adventures. No. I was always by myself, reading books and imagining a world where I actually belonged."

"And then what happened?"

"And then–" She smiles "–that world found me. It wasn't perfect – few things are – but it gave me a home and people to call friends. I've been grateful ever since."

"Sounds like it worked out for you, then."

She glances down to a part of her arm covered by the sleeves of a light, cashmere sweater. "Not at first," she responds, voice heavy. "But, eventually, yes. That's in the past, however. Why's tomorrow so critical for you?"

"Because I realized something very important," he declares, unfazed by the change in topic. "I came to see that, no matter what happened in the past, there was only one person whom I could blame for my current predicament. It was me. I could continue on, trying to fight the world at every angle, or I could accept a simple truth. That I had to move on. That I could become someone better, even if no one else believed it. And, tomorrow, I have that chance. It'll be a hard task: I have to convince several individuals who despise me that I'm different now, and I know it's almost hopeless, but… I have to start somewhere, right?"

There is a desperation in his voice by the end, and he looks at her, seeking… affirmation, or possibly just simple support. She stares at him intently, and he startles when he feels her hand press into his. It's been so long since he's had the pleasure of human touch. Only tonight. Only Beltane.

"You've traveled a long road," she states, "and most of your journey has been solitary. I don't know what difficulties lie ahead, but when you speak, I can hear the notes of conviction in your tone. Your heart is in this, and what can be more important? And, as for the people that you claim hate you… you don't know that. Time has passed; things may have changed. They could be all different now."

"Not to me. Not after what I've done."

"Rubbish!" she scowls at his despondent tone. In the distance, fireworks sparkle among a sea of stars. People cheer them on – bright flashes that burn yellow and purple and green. She takes her hand away and joins him, staring at the fire. "If you've changed, then so have they." Her words are almost a sigh, a whisper in the night.

A night which seems so much lighter now. "Thanks," he says, after a while. "I think I needed to hear that." She hums her agreement, her shoulder touching his. They don't say anything for a while, watching the logs burn. Time passes them by, small increments that can be judged through the celestial journey of the constellations above. They sit there, together, two strangers at the crossroads of destiny, bathed in a silver glow.

"Change," she finally mumbles and then takes a deep breath like she's about to jump down a cliff. "I'm trying to change too."

He steals a surprised glance in her direction. Her eyes are locked on the flame, and she's nibbling on her bottom lip with worry. He wasn't expecting her to reciprocate his admissions, but then he realizes that she wants to unburden herself too. She'll never see him again, which gives her enough courage to confess her deepest secrets, as if he's a priest hidden by the veil of his confession booth. She's locked a part of herself away too, and now it wishes to be free.

"There was this boy," she huffs. His eyebrows rise in merriment and she shoots him a glare. "Not like _that._ No. He was… well, he was actually quite terrible. I knew him in school, and he taunted me at every turn. And then… well, there was the war, and we found ourselves on opposing sides of the barricades. I always thought he represented everything wrong with our world; for me, he was the ultimate symbol of intolerance and cruelty. Even when the war ended, I continued to hate him. Despise, even. That's a good word you used, and those were my exact feelings towards him. And then…"

She pauses, and the man turns, giving her a slight nudge. "And then?" he prompts.

Her expression is almost mourning, eyes haunted by scenes no one should witness. "I got to thinking one day," she says, "about how my past – my blood – came to dictate the paths I'd follow. How where I came from informed my final destination. I never had a choice, I realized. I don't believe in fate, but that's what it was, in a way. I was part of a galactic testament, a microbe on the robe of eternity, and how can a microbe alter what is set to be? And then I suddenly thought: well, he – the boy – is no different. He was molded from the same clay, just a different texture. And that idea crashed my world. I looked around with new eyes, and saw the same prejudice and the same hatred that rotted away the old society except, for once, those feelings weren't directed at me. And I want to change that and heal our world. It's not too much to ask, is it? For a society that doesn't care about blood, but nurtures us all to be the best that we can? And I can achieve that. I _will_ achieve that." She speaks earnestly, a fire in her eyes that burns more fiercely than the flames before them. It's the passion that fills her to the very core, and forces her to commit all her strength to a single cause.

"And, tomorrow is actually a big day for me too, because I can begin working towards that goal. This boy I spoke of – well, he's trying to do something and I think I can help. And, even if he still hates me or can't stand the sight of me, it wont matter, because it's an act that I will repeat, again and again, until my children and their children will be free to talk and mingle with anyone they choose, regardless of the past!"

She pants, having finished her monologue. "I think you'll do that, and more," he states, as her breathing slowly returns to an even rhythm. "Notes of conviction, did you say? Well, I'm hearing an orchestra right now." He takes out a flask that someone handed him and summons two glasses. "To change," he says. "To change," she echoes, clinking her glass against his, and then they drink, a flavor of spice and berry lingering in their mouths.

"I don't even know your name," he muses, once the wine is gone.

"I thought that was the point of this: full anonymity."

"Well, I have to call you something," he reasons.

"Alright." She raises her head, watching the last fireworks dot the sky. "I was born in September, so call me that: September."

"September." The name tastes sweet on his tongue.

"And you?"

The man rummages around in his pockets and retrieves their contents. There's some lint, a scrunched up chocolate frog wrapper, and a pair of sickles. He takes one, thrusting it out.

"A sickle," he says. "It's not worth much, but, invest it correctly, and it can grow to be a galleon. That's much how I feel right now. That I can be so much more. So that'll be my name: Sickle."

"Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Sickle." She sticks out her hand.

"As I you, Ms. September." Grinning giddily, he grips it and gives her a firm shake.

"And what do we do now?"

"Would you care for a stroll?" he says, still holding her hand.

"I'd love one." She smiles up at him, dimples peeking out on supple cheeks. They walk around, talking about everything and nothing, till the moon falls below the horizon and tinges of pink begin stretching out, heralding the dawn of a new day. They part ways just before the fires go out, a little lost, mournful that they'll never see each other again. She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and he breathes in deep, storing the scent of asters and foxberry deep in his mind. He'll carry this memory forever, he thinks.

They don't bode each other farewell, just share a glance that is more meaningful than any words. The suns peeks out, and she apparates away, gone forever.

"Goodbye, September," he whispers and then takes out his wand, disappearing before the last enchantments of the night fade away, allowing everyone to see the ex-Death Eater in their midst. "Goodbye…"

 **That following morning.**

Draco Malfoy strolled purposefully into the Ministry meeting room, taking a seat across from several members of the government. He showed none of the turmoil he faced inside; on the contrary, he seemed composed, professional. His clothes were freshly pressed, the creases so sharp they could cut like a knife. He held a briefcase in his hand, one which he opened to disclose several stacks of marked parchment.

"Mr. Chiffle, Mr. Rebcott, Ms. Simmons," he greeted the board. "I'm grateful you took the time to meet with me. I'd like to begin by saying–"

"One moment," Mr. Chiffle, the head of the board, interrupted, his lip curling in distaste. He held no love for this boy – he ought to be in Azkaban. "There is a last minute addition to our group… we're just waiting for her… Ah, there she is! Ms. Granger, welcome."

"Mr. Chiffle," the curly-haired witch responded politely. Malfoy swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. _Granger!_ He hadn't counted on her. What was she doing? Would she sabotage his plans? They had little chance of success anyways, but if she was here to punish him for his schoolyard bullying or his part in the war – his _aunt!_ –, then he stood no chance! Draco's heart thumped in his chest, sending adrenaline down his veins. His fingers trembled, and he stilled them, forcing a flimsy smile onto his rapidly paling face.

"Malfoy." She acknowledged him with a nod. He didn't know what to make of that greeting. It was too ambiguous, and he couldn't read her – not at all.

"Granger," he replied cautiously, trying to maintain his quickly shrinking hopes. He stood and walked over to shake her hand, praying his own wasn't clammy with sweat. "I didn't know you'd be here. If I had, I would–"

Draco froze, unable to complete the remainder of his phrase. _No. It can't be._

Impossible.

"Malfoy?" She stared at him curiously, but he didn't care, because, all of a sudden, his senses became aware of that magical, that tantalizingly sweet smell, one which he thought he'd never breath again.

Asters and foxberry.

Beltane.

Impossible.

His mind a whirl, he lost control of himself for a moment and whispered a single word, watching her eyes widen in recognition.

"September."

Granger parted her lips, exhaled a shocked breath, and then, like a sliver of sun peeking out from over stormy clouds, smiled at him with the happiest, most radiant expression he had ever seen.

"Sickle," she answered him softly, and he basked in her glow, breathing in the heavenly light.

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 **Written in candlelight under the winds of Irma and posted the moment I got power back :D**

 **Edit: The initial one-shot is continued in later chapters, if you wanna skip over to them immediately. Just check the titles.**


	2. Dental Hygiene

**Dribble Two: Dental Hygiene**

 **Length ~ 1k words**

 **Rating: K+**

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Hermione must have gotten turned around somewhere – she didn't know this part of the castle. It was murky, with shadows pooling in the corners, and, through the windows, she could see that the lake was much closer, almost on eye-level.

She must be near the dungeons. Right where the Slytherins lived.

Hermione squared her shoulders and walked ahead bravely. She might be just eleven years old, but she had been sorted into Gryffindor, and Gryffindors weren't afraid of anything. Besides, all she needed to do was find a bathroom, brush her teeth, and then she could run back to her dorm. Skipping the daily routine didn't even cross her mind – what kind of a dentists' daughter would she be then?

Sadly, curfew was just a few minutes away, and the hallways were empty, so there was no one to ask for directions.

"Aha!" Finally, she spied what looked like a bathroom. Hastily, she made her way towards it and opened the door in a rush.

"What the–"

Hermione colored crimson. In her hurry, she'd stumbled into a boys' lav. And there, standing in front of the sinks, was none other than Draco Malfoy, who'd already been quite mean to her on several occasions.

Although, he wasn't the only one. Almost everyone was mean, since few liked the bushy-haired know-it-all. Not even members of her own house showed her any affection. It made life rather lonely.

"Sorry!" she squeaked, making to pivot and run to some dark, forgotten corner where she could promptly die of mortification. But, something caught her eye, and she paused.

Draco Malfoy, to his growing horror, witnessed the first-year Gryffindor approaching him.

"Are you… _flossing?"_ she asked, fascinated.

The question, combined with her presence, was so incongruous, that his mind shut down for a moment. Instead of sneering and shoving her away, as any proper bigoted pureblood should, he fell back on his well-bred instincts and replied in a scandalized fashion: "Of course, I'm flossing! What kind of animal _doesn't_ floss after eating?!"

Hermione giggled suddenly and said, "Ronald Weasley doesn't. Over dinner, he got this bit of parsley stuck between his teeth, and he kept picking at it with his fingers! He went to bed right after, and I think it's still there."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Well, that's _Weasley,_ " he replied scornfully. "I'm not entirely certain he even knows what a brush is!"

Hermione giggled again, eyeing the bit of string with interest. It was obviously magical: when she'd walked in, Draco had been standing with his mouth open, and it was moving by itself. All he had to do was stand watch.

"I came to floss too," she shared. "But I got lost along the way. Still, I couldn't go to bed without cleaning my teeth first!"

"Of course, you couldn't," he nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Anyone with even a speck of self-respect knows that. Show me."

"What– oh." Blushing, Hermione opened to share with him the contents of her little pouch, which held all of her bathroom necessities. There was her pink toothbrush, sensibly stored in a plastic tube holder, which she cleaned out rigorously every day; a bar of floral soap; a packet of floss, scented with mint; the toothpaste her parents recommended; and some girly products which she shoved away.

"Hmm," Draco inspected the essentials dubiously. "Muggle things?" He poked at her floss; it did nothing. His own was suspended in midair, waiting to resume its work.

"Yes. I didn't know there were alternatives," Hermione answered sadly, suddenly feeling embarrassed for her plebeian background. Of course, Draco Malfoy, who came from this world, would have _magical_ floss, _magical_ toothpaste, and a _magical_ brush.

"Well…" the boy began hesitantly, "If you don't have any, I could get you some."

"Really?!"

"Yeah." He sounded more confident now. "Not only do you know the importance of dental hygiene, but you just poked fun at Weasley, so even if you are a muggleborn you can't be all that bad," he reasoned. "So come back here tomorrow, and I'll give you some things which should be part of any _normal_ witch or wizard's daily regimen."

"You'd do that?" she asked breathlessly.

Malfoy's cheeks started to turn pink. "I just offered, didn't I?" he mumbled, looking down.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Hermione exclaimed, and then, in a bout of emotion, lunged forward to peck him on the cheek.

It took her a moment to realize what she'd done.

"I'm so sorry!" she squeaked, covering her face with her hands from embarrassment. "I didn't mean to...I mean...I just…"

Malfoy, standing just a foot away, watched her sputter incoherently. "It's just a toothbrush," he muttered, "and some floss."

"But it's not _just a toothbrush!"_ Hermione cried out suddenly and began to sniffle. "It's so much more than that! You're sharing it with me! No one else here shares anything! All they do is laugh and call me names!"

Malfoy, who'd done his own fair share of name calling, shuffled uncomfortably.

"Look," he said awkwardly, because he had no idea what to do with crying girls, "it's almost curfew. I'm already done, so I'll go. You...do what you need and come back here tomorrow, alright?"

"Alright," Hermione agreed, wiping her eyes and smiling brilliantly, which made her buck-teeth stand out even more. Oddly, Draco didn't find the sight repulsing. It was even kind of...cute. "Thanks."

"You're, ah...you're welcome. Oh, and, uh...avoid Peeves."

She was still smiling when he went out the door.

Hermione completed her evening routine, and then carefully made her way back to Gryffindor tower. From time to time, a huge grin would pop up on her face, and she didn't even try to bite it back. She had just made a friend! Counting Neville, that made a grand total of two, and she felt like her fortunes in Hogwarts were finally turning around.

Life was so much better when you had friends.

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 **Written at 3 am when my flu lead to insomnia and an irrational impulse to floss my teeth. No regrets.**


	3. Say 'Yes' To The Fish

**Dribble Three: Say 'Yes' To The Fish.**

 **Length ~ 1.5k words**

 **Rating: T**

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The Ministry office of Hermione Granger was a hub of activity. To reach the busy witch, Draco had to weave around twelve stacks of parchment, dodge six memos that whisked through the air, and quickly side-step one of Hermione's irritated colleagues, whose recent proposal to the Wizengamot she had deemed 'fiscally irresponsible'.

"Granger," he greeted her after finally reaching her loaded desk.

Hermione didn't look up. All of her attention was occupied by some important document in her hands. She was reading it very quickly, mumbling under her breath as she did.

"Granger," he tried again.

Still no response.

"Hermione, you're leaving work early today."

That did the trick.

"What?" she glanced up, scandalized, eyebrows rising. "I most certainly am not! Oh– hi, Draco." Her cheeks colored. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. It's been crazy here, and what with Wilkinson pushing his agenda, which _HE WILL ONLY ACCOMPLISH OVER MY DEAD BODY_ , I've just been swamped." The body part had been yelled out into the corridor.

"I've noticed," Draco said dryly as another memo tore through the office, almost taking off his ear before landing on Hermione's desk. "But, love, you need a break. And I, considerate boyfriend that I am, have booked us a weekend getaway. We'll be gone the whole time, and there will be no discussions of work, the Ministry, or of that incompetent kiss-ass Wilkinson. Just us, unending bottles of champagne, and the pristine beaches of Majorka. What do you say?"

"Oh, Draco, that's really sweet, but–"

"And before you say 'but', I just want to add that I've already spoken with your supervisor, and he said that while you're probably the best Ministry employee in at least the past two centuries–"

"Two?"

"Three. Three centuries."

Hermione smiled. "Alright then, go on."

"Right. So, he was saying that although you're the best employee here in the last _five_ centuries, he is sick and tired of you staying late and being overly productive and thus casting a shadow that no other Ministry worker can dream to crawl out of."

"He said all that?"

"Well, not is so many words."

" _Draco!_ I can tell when you're lying, you know."

"Alright, alright! Maybe I didn't go to your supervisor, but you've been working late every day, and I'm...I'm starting to miss you."

The wizard glanced down suddenly, looking oddly vulnerable, and Hermione felt ashamed. Ashamed that she'd let herself drown in work, letting her boyfriend of two years suffer in solitude. She knew he didn't have many friends. Life was still difficult for him, after the war. Too many people looked down on him; too many spat in his face, calling out for his incarceration in Azkaban.

The fact that the most vocal contingent of those spouting accusations had spent their war-years hiding safely in warm sanctuaries made her furious.

They'd even dared attack her, when she had started going out with him. She'd been called a whore and a sell-out, and it didn't bother her, but if people were willing to shame _her,_ a war-heroine, then how much did Draco have to endure?

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, a pang of guilt in her words. "Give me a few minutes to gather my things and we can go."

Draco perked up so quickly and gave her such a sassy grin that she instantly knew she'd been duped. The sneaky Slytherin had been playing up the downtrodden angle in order to manipulate her into saying yes.

And look at that: she'd gone for it all; hook, line and sinker.

"I know what you did there, mister," she growled, but he was unfazed.

"Hurry up," he just said with a dazzling smile. "I've got the whole weekend planned out. The best thing comes at the start, though, and you know why?"

"Ugh." Hermione knew he'd wait till she asked. "Alright, why?"

"Because we're going hunting for a fish!"

"A fish? What– do I even wanna know?"

"Don't scoff, Granger, this is important." Suddenly, all of his playfulness was gone, and he looked startlingly serious. "It's very important that you say 'yes'. You _have to say 'yes' to the fish._ Remember that, ok?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll consider it. Now let me go get my things."

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione was ready and Draco held out a portkey to her.

"Aren't we going home first?" she protested. "I'll need to pack some clothes, at least."

"Already packed."

"Huh. Thought of everything, have you?"

For a brief moment, a very peculiar expression crossed Draco's face – on someone else she would have called it _nervousness_ – but then it passed, and he just softly said, "I think I have. Let's go."

 **. . . .**

 **. . . .**

"Ok, you can open your eyes now."

Hermione did so and gasped at the beauty of her surroundings. Draco's portkey had taken them to a clearwater koi pond covered in lilies that ranged in hues from the most vivid green to the silkiest pink. A soft wind blew through the air, carrying the scents of lilac and sakura. They stood on a walkbridge, painted white, and a vast, cloudless sky stretched above.

"It looks like, just like–"

"Monet's pond," Draco finished thought. "It's actually called that – because of the resemblance. I remember you told me that his lilies were your favorite series of paintings when we visited that muggle art gallery."

"I didn't think you were paying attention…"

"I always pay attention when it comes you, Hermione. You mean everything to me. You're the only one who's had the courage and the conviction to stand by my side – even when your own friends were questioning your decision."

"Harry and Ron…they worry, that's all."

"And yet, you stayed. You've made me the happiest man on the planet, dove. But...enough with the sappy stuff! It's not manly – or so your Weasel says. I told you we came here to hunt a fish, remember?!"

"A fish?!" Hermione glanced at the beautiful shimmering koi that were lazing around in the water. Their scales shined orange and white, red and black, purple and green. Her eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Ah-ah-ah! We're not here to _fish._ We're here to hunt _a fish._ There's a difference, my dear."

"Are you quite finished with your condescending nonsense yet?"

"Almost...aha, there it is. Look!"

Hermione peered down and saw the biggest, most radiant koi fish she can ever seen. Its skin was like butter cream, and on its sides were speckles of rubies and emeralds.

"It's gorgeous!" Hermione gasped.

"I hoped you'd like it. Be careful now, it's coming closer. Get ready to catch!"

"... _Catch?!"_

Indeed, at that moment the koi fish began to gather speed, swimming towards the young couple on the bridge. When it was right below them, it thrust itself up and jumped right into Hermione's outstretched arms.

"Eeek!" Draco would always remember that squeal and tease her about it from time to time. "What kind of fish is this?!" It stretched itself passively in her grasp, looking like one giant golden lump.

"Well, it's not a fish actually. I transfigured something...made it into this. Took some studying too; had to grovel before McGonagall for her to teach me. Why don't you cancel the charm, see what it is? Oh– shoot, dropped something."

Hermione, her curiosity piqued, absently noted Draco getting down on one knee to search for whatever it was he had dropped. She took out her wand and, after spending a few more seconds admiring the beautiful koi (even if it wasn't real), cast a quick _finite incantatem._

Hermione blinked.

The fish disappeared, leaving behind a single golden ring. Along its length ran an intricate pattern of tiny rubies and emeralds. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and yet, for some reason, her mouth became very dry and her heart started thumping insanely, like she was running a marathon.

"Herrmione Jean Granger." Draco's voice was very solemn.

She looked up – he was still on one knee, facing her with an open, yearning expression. She tried to say something, anything, but there was a lump in her throat and nothing came out. Instead, her vision became misty and she had to blink very quickly. Was he–?

"I love you with all my heart," he interrupted her scrambling thoughts. "You make me happy in a million ways, and I'd like to spend the rest of my life telling you each and every one. Will you share that with me? Will you be my wife? And, before you give your answer I just have to warn you – you did promise to say 'yes' to the fish."

"I. I…" Hermione stammered, pressing a hand to her chest. "I actually said I'd consider it," she finally managed faintly.

"And now that you've had?"

He was there, looking at her with loving eyes and she was drowning in their depths.

"Yes…" It was a whisper, but he heard.

"Yes?"

"Yes. Yes! _YES!"_ she suddenly screamed, and then he jumped up, twirling her in his arms, and he was laughing, and there were tears streaming down her cheeks, although she couldn't figure out why, because she'd never been so happy.

She was glad she'd said 'yes' to the fish.

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 **Written during... ahhh, just written!**


	4. September and a Sickle, Part II

**Dribble 4: September and a Sickle Part II**

 **~500 words**

* * *

" _Malfoy?!"_ Harry's voice is high and shrill. "You're having lunch with _Malfoy?!"_

Hermione doesn't even glance from the document she's proofing. "And why's that a problem Harry?"

"Why's that– _Why's that a problem_?" For a second, it seems like she's shocked the speech out of him and he flounders. "Because it's Malfoy! What, do you need a reminder on how spoiled and mean and bullying he was? Maybe you'd like an essay, Hermione: twelve inches of parchment detailing all the horrible things he's done?! And now – lunch?!"

"Well that's a bit hypocritical of you to say," she responds coolly, "considering how well you get on with Dudley now. Didn't he used to beat you as a kid?"

"Dudley?!" Harry sputters. "That's different! Dudley was young and foolish and had terrible parents that enabled all his childish atrocities! He just didn't know any better! Of course, once he grew up–"

This is the point where Hermione glances up with an amused expression and Harry realizes he's making her case for her. He picks at a cuticle and finally concedes with a huff, "Oh, alright. I guess he deserves a chance, although why you would ever want to–"

"I want to," she interrupts hotly, "because of the irregularities he discovered in our budget! Harry, did you know that several of the companies we contract are overcharging us by at least 300%? I didn't. I'm drowning in work, so I've never even had the chance to look at our department's accounting practices! And here comes Malfoy and tells us that the company we pay to deliver food to our orphanages – the ones that house children whose parents died in the war! – well that company is bleeding us dry! He laid it out, facts and everything, and then offered us a cheaper alternative of a higher quality, while I just sat there, flabbergasted! All together, his proposals will save our department up to 300,000 galleons a year! Do you know what that means? It means we will be finally able to afford sending kids to Hogwarts not looking like...well, like Ron did in first year, with his secondhand robes and hand-me-down wand! The children will have new books, not old ones with torn-out pages and scribbles in the margins; new cauldrons, not ones that leak and tend to explode; new–"

"Ok, ok, ok, Hermione, I get it!" Harry exclaims, raising his arms in surrender. Hermione snorts and then, with a tilt of her brow, imperiously accepts his unconditional capitulation. "Just making it clear for you," she rubs it in smugly, reveling in her victory. It doesn't last long, however.

"You just wait till Ron finds out about this," Harry mutters under his breath, but the witch hears and groans audibly.

Ron. That'll be a problem.

* * *

 **Written because y'all motivated me with your requests for Pt 2 =)**


	5. September and a Sickle, Part III

**Part 3 to September and a Sickle. Rating's a liiiitttllleee higher for this one, on the upper verge of T, I think.**

 **~550 words**

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"Granger, is that...two tables away from us...is that Harry Potter in a _wig?_ And why is Weasley dressed like a woman?"

There are many things Hermione would like to say in response to that question. Unfortunately, they're in a public place, so she can't. Also (and also unfortunately), the two men (children) in question are her best friends, and so the proper thing to do is to cover for their idiocy, even though they are spending their on-duty auror time by spying on her date with Draco.

...Children.

And so, after taking three deep breaths to ensure that she doesn't storm over to their table and explode, she primly responds: "I'll have you know that members of the Auror Department undergo extensive training in the art of subterfuge, precluding _any possibility_ of them being detected on a mission. Therefore, it is highly unlikely that Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley – two _very_ qualified aurors – would be uncovered so easily by a member of the public. Additionally, those two would know better than to waste their time as government employees to spy on their friend. They would also know that if they _ever_ made such a rude and overbearing attempt of intrusion into my personal life – even if it was committed under the misguided notion of being 'for my own good' – then I would take their bollocks and rip them off with a pair of pliers. And I would do it slowly."

It's possible that she sounds a little (just a tiny bit) irate by the end of her speech, because the woman sitting two tables away – the same woman which bears such a striking resemblance to the youngest male Weasley – suddenly starts coughing very hard. The man in the wig – who most certainly is _not_ Harry Potter – begins to pat her on the back sympathetically.

"Hmm." Draco sounds unconvinced and much too amused. "Maybe you're right."

"What?" Hermione gapes. Her date actually fell for this bullshite?

Draco nods, grinning like the infamous Chesire cat. "Yup. I think this has nothing to do with you...or us for that matter. Maybe you just don't know your two friends all that well. Maybe this is a weekly outing for them: a nice romantic date, away from the eyes of the press and the ceaseless demands of their tyrannical wives. I always did think they were too attached to each other."

Now the man in the wig is coughing too. Draco leans in and continues his sly torture. "Are they always so overprotective?" he purrs quietly. "And can you just imagine their reactions if they found out that we're already sha–"

"MENU!" Hermione practically screams, interrupting him. "Look, the menus are here! Oh, I love menus! Don't you love menus?! Look, so much good food in these wonderful menus! What do you want? I want the duck. Two ducks, please! And a bottle of wine. What– which kind? The one with the highest alcohol content, thank you."

Two tables away, the woman, who is wearing one of Fred and George's extendable ears, whispers to her companion, "Harry! Psst! Harry! What did he mean when she cut him off? What was he going to say?! They're already sha– what? Shaming? Sharping?!"

Harry Potter, looking redder than a cooked lobster, just shakes his head, downing a shot of firewhiskey. "You don't wanna know," he mumbles, already so sorry he'd come here. "You don't wanna know."

* * *

 **These silly ideas always come to me as I'm falling asleep and then I have to get up and scribble down at least the basics, because otherwise I know I'll forget D:**


	6. Be Careful What You Wish For

**Driablllle 6: Be Careful What You Wish For**

 **Rating: M**

 **~950 words**

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Rose Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy delivered the news on the day of their graduation from Hogwarts: they were getting married.

The unanticipated declaration sent their respective families into shock better than a bolt of lighting ever could. Married! Rose and Scorpius! No one had even heard they were dating!

After hours of tears and explanations, curses and hexes, hopeful inquiries about love potions and desperate ones about the _imperius,_ their parents were forced to accept the inevitable: the young couple was in love.

And not just any kind of love, but the sick, doe-eyed, head-over-heels version that comes to maybe two couples out of fifty. Rose saw only Scorpius; her heart beat for him. Scorpius, on his end, couldn't imagine a life without Rose and would fight for her till the day he died.

No parent can stand before that.

So the Weasleys and the Malfoys grudgingly accepted the union, but that did not mean they accepted each other. Oh, they let Rose and Scorpius be, but the animosity between old school rivals grew to unimaginably toxic heights. Ron and Draco detested each other with a fervor; Hermione couldn't keep biting remarks off her tongue, to which Draco responded with equally cold sneers. Astoria tried to stay out of things, but her marriage to Draco made her take his side as a matter of principle more often than not.

Any kind of marriage planning or family get-together was inescapably ruined. The parents would yell, hiss, scream and hex each other to oblivion. It got so bad that poor, innocent Rose Weasley actually fainted on one occasion.

Did the mutual loathing diminish in any way?

Maybe. Just a little, but not enough. The hatred simmered beneath, like a badly brewed potion about to explode. And if that happened at the marriage ceremony…

Something had to be done.

It was Lily Potter that came up with the idea. Sorted into Slytherin, the girl was the epitome of cunning, and the other children – Albus, James, Hugo, and, most importantly, Rose and Scorpius – quickly decided her plan to be the most brilliant thing they'd ever heard. Just...brilliant!

Rose figured out how to do the magic (she was as studious as her mother had been), and the trap was set.

Ten days before the wedding, Scorpius lured his parents to the Weasley's home, while Rose stood outside, casting magic on the house.

"It's a modified reverse-fidelius charm!" Scorpius yelled from outside the doorway right after informing the parents of their devious plan. "Instead of no one getting _in,_ it prevents you from coming _out!_ It will only stop working once you manage to exhibit some level of tolerance towards each other. Good luck!"

And then he shut the door, locking everyone in. Draco, Astoria, Hermione and Ron were now stuck together, unable to get out. Oh, boy…

The living room was destroyed in a matter of minutes. The kitchen followed soon after, then the pantry, the upstairs bedroom, the guest room and, finally, the main dining room saw its gloomy end. By evening, the four individuals were exhausted. They slumped in opposite corners of the room, bits of wood and glass strewn all around. There was no energy left to fight.

It was then that Draco spied the bottle.

Somehow, it had survived through all the fighting, and it held a copious amount of liquor. Good liquor, too.

Naturally, Draco took it.

Ron and Hermione, dully observing the inadmissible appropriation of their property, expressed their outrage by crawling over, as they were simply too tired to do anything else. Draco shot them a look, and then graciously decided to share the aged whiskey, which disappeared in a mere twenty minutes.

That was a real tragedy, but then another bottle was found. Hallelujah.

In one hour, the four adults were laughing uproariously. Under the influence of alcohol, everything became funny. Hermione slapping Draco in third year? Hilarious. Potter defeating the Dark Lord? Priceless. Ron kissing Astoria on a dare? That was…

Kind of hot, actually.

Then Ron's hands dipped into Astoria's blouse, squeezing the mounds of flesh within, and she giggled breathlessly. Hermione was too preoccupied with Draco to notice. Their tongues battled together, her fingers in his hair, until she pushed him down, down, to where he pressed his lips to one of her ankles, and then she placed her other foot on his head, offering him a generous view of her thighs.

She found that she quite liked him there: down at her feet, worshiping them.

But then he was back up, and her skirt was hitched up, and Astoria was already moaning under Ron, and…

 **. . . .**

 **. . . .**

The modified reverse-fidelius charm fell around midnight. The children had been sitting around, waiting for this to happen for hours. Finally, the spell had deemed their parents' attitudes towards each other 'tolerable'! Finally! Their plan had worked!

Rose was so proud of her mum and dad. She knew they had bad history with Draco, but she always believed they could get through it. And she was right – the magic had just proved it so!

Eyes brimming with tears of happiness, Rose rushed into the house to hug her parents. Her marriage to Scorpius would be perfect now. Everyone would get along. It was all she ever wished for.

She ran into the dining room, absentmindedly registering some weird noises, moans and squelching sounds, but it was too dark to make anything out.

" _Lumos,"_ Rose whispered, still floating on her happy cloud. She couldn't wait to see her parents. Couldn't wait to express her glee.

She couldn't...oh, Merlin, _NO!_

Rose Weasley screamed. She screamed so loud that the windows shattered, but that didn't help. What she saw would stay with her forever, and it really was her fault.

Because you should always be careful what you wish for.

* * *

 **"Rose and scor get married lock parents into room swingers horror" is the phrase from which this terror came from. I wrote it down at 2:30 AM, as the idea came to me, again, just on the verge of sleep.**

 **Oh, and Happy Turkey Day. I had to help make like 5 gazillion pelmeni (dumplings). Yaayy...**


	7. September and a Sickle, Part IV

**Part 4 of September and a Sickle!**

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"Ron, it's not really magic."

"What do you mean 'not really magic'? It says right there, look: " _Magic Eight Ball!"_ The muggle lady at the shop counter even confirmed it!"

"Mhm. I'm gonna guess you asked if it was _really_ magic, and she smiled and said 'yes'."

"Exactly, Harry! Exactly! How did you know?"

"I…"

"Doesn't matter. Harry, this thing is fantastic! I can't even believe muggles have access to this!"

"Ron…"

"No, no, no, Harry, you just listen. I asked it whether the Cannons would win yesterday, and you know what it said?"

"Alright, what did it say?"

" _It is certain._ Its exact words! Harry, it _knew_ the Cannons were gonna win, and what happened?! THEY WON! 150 to 140, first win of the season!"

"Of the decade, more like."

"That's what makes it so amazing! Who else could have known?! Harry, this is a fortune teller's dream! It's better than Trelawney!"

"Anything is better than Trelawney."

"Alright, I'll give you that. But I made five hundred galleons on that game!"

"Wait, you bet _five hundred galleons_ based on a prediction from a muggle toy?"

"It's not a toy, Harry! And I only bet fifty, the odds were ten-to-one."

"...Where'd you even get fifty galleons, Ron?"

"I emptied out part of my savings. But that's not important! Harry, this magic eight ball thingy is amazing! It pointed me towards another golden opportunity, and I'm bringing you in! We're gonna get rich, buddy!"

"I'm scared to ask."

"Excellent! There's this company: MMM. You put money in it, and then practically weeks later you get five times your investment! It's brilliant!"

"I'm sorry, how does that work again?"

"Well, they gave me a booklet. Read it, it's all there! All you have to do is place an initial investment, and then you get a rank that allows you to recruit more people to invest into the company. And the more you recruit, the higher your pay-off!"

"Ron, NO! Ron, that's called a pyramid scheme!"

"Well, that's good, right? I mean, the pyramids have been around for ages, so my money will be just as stable, yeah?"

"Oh my God. Ron, please tell me you waited before…"

"All of it, Harry! I gave them all my money! My saving, my winnings, even some I borrowed from around! Malfoy practically threw his at me when I told him about it!"

"Malfoy…You borrowed Malfoy's money?"

"Ha, he just overheard me in the pub, Harry! You know, after the game. If only you could see his face when I told him how rich I'm gonna be!"

"So you took his money?"

"All the one thousand galleons! But don't worry: it's a sure thing! And it'll be knuts to me when I give it back!"

"I don't...I don't know what to say…"

"You don't need to say anything. I actually brought you here, because I have an important question to ask this magic ball, and I want you with me for this. Harry, are you ready? Why are you so pale? Ah, doesn't matter, here goes: Magic eight ball, magic eight ball, will Hermione Granger break up with Draco Malfoy?"

 _Try Again._

"HARRY! HARRY, IT SAYS 'TRY AGAIN!' It wants me to try again with Hermione! She'll take me back! We'll have kids together! We'll be rich! And Malfoy will be left with nothing! Hahaha! C'mon, Harry, we gotta hurry...when's their wedding again? Two hours? We can make it! It's not too late! It's never too late!"

 _Sigh._


End file.
